Requiem
by CarawynO
Summary: Aragorn is lost in memories after Théoden's funeral. Written for the December/January Teitho contest under the theme "Memories", where it did not place.


Théoden King had been buried, and his mound was covered with the green turves from which would soon spring the seemingly delicate white blooms of simbelmynë. Éomer and Éowyn had lead their guests back through the gates of Edoras, and already the sound of singing was carrying over the walls as the people prepared a feast to celebrate the life and deeds of their victorious and well loved king.

Aragorn stood alone by the newly erected mound, his head bowed respectfully as his mind wondered, lost in memories.

He had left his foster home in Imladris more than sixty years before, taking the name Thorongil, and had come to Rohan to serve under Thengel King. Théoden, the crown prince, was a boy of only nine years at that time. Though he was considered too young to start any official training with the riders, he could often be found on the training grounds, watching closely with his keen blue eyes, and taking in all that he could.

The men respected him for this eagerness to learn, and the king's guard especially regarded him almost as if he were a nephew or a younger brother. It was not at all uncommon for one or more of the men to pick up a wooden practice sword once their training was done for the day, and to let the boy try out the skills that he had observed.

When he was brought to Edoras to serve Thengel King directly, Thorongil had taken up this habit as well, and had sparred with the prince on several occasions. Theoden must have been about thirteen now, almost of age to start serving as a squire and formally training with the riders. Being a careful observer, the young prince had long ago noticed that Thorongil's fighting style was different from the rider's, and he had often asked to be shown something new, something that the riders wouldn't expect from him.

One afternoon they happened to be alone on the training fields, and Thorongil had laughed and at last agreed when Theoden made his request again. They stayed on the training fields for several hours, until the boy had perfected the new skill.

The next day Theoden had challenged Halgrim, a young rider acknowledged by all to be a highly skilled swordsman, to spar with him. Halgrim had obliged, chuckling at the confidence that the prince showed as they squared off.

The rest of the king's guard had gathered around in a ring, some cheering on the prince while others joined Halgrim's good natured taunts. Only Thorongil had remained silent as he stood in the circle, his arms crossed and his face carefully neutral.

At first the fight followed the typical form that the men used when sparring with Theoden, with the older man deliberately shortening his reach a little to make the fight more fair. The expected thrusts were parried, lunges were countered, and the combatants circled about each other in a familiar dance.

Then Theoden had glanced over at Thorongil, who gave a small nod.

Theoden slowly started to smile, then to grin, and this seemed to throw Halgrim's concentration. The taunts stopped, and his brows drew together when he looked at the smile on the boy's face.

It was not long before Halgrim was reacting defensively to Theoden's advances rather than making any advances of his own. The prince's grin widened still more as he executed the feint Thorongil had taught him the day before, and followed it with a cut towards Halgrim's knees. The bunt edge of the wooden sword connected harmlessly against the rider's leg, but many of the men standing about the ring had fallen silent at Theoden's attack and so the sound of the impact could be clearly heard.

It took Halgrim a moment to realize what had happened, and to acknowledge that he had been bested by the boy, but once he did he laughed loudly and dropped his sword in surrender.

Theoden's grin had stretched from ear to ear as he transferred his sword to his left hand and extended his right to Halgrim. Still laughing, Halgrim had taken it, shaking his head all the while. "Where did you learn to do that?" He clapped a firm hand on Theoden's shoulder. " And more important, will you teach me to do it?"

The men all laughed, but then many added their own requests to learn the technique. Theoden grew flushed with the praise, but quickly agreed to teach the feint. As the riders moved to find positions where they could move without injuring each other, Theoden had again looked to Thorongil, who simply gave a conspirator's smile and a small salute before circling to the back of the group, and then slipping away into the city.

The riders all held Theoden in even higher respect after that day, and when he started his official training he quickly became a man that the others in his company were proud to ride with. He had earned their regard rather than merely expecting it to be given because of his title. Thorongil had glad to see it, for he could see that the Riddermark would be in good hands when Theoden became king.

A smile had curved Aragorn's lips as he relived the pride and satisfaction he had felt as he watched the boy win his first victory, but the smile faded as more recent memories took the place of the happy one from years before.

He had heard the rumors that the Rohirrim were paying a tribute of black horses to Mordor, but he had believed it no more than Boromir did. At his first meeting with Eomer on the plains of the East-Mark he had been gladdened to hear it confirmed that the Eorlingas had not fallen to the shadow. He had grown concerned when Eomer had spoken of Grima, and of his influence over Theoden, but had remembered the young man that he had sparred with years before. He could not fully believe that the king would have changed so much from the man he had known.

Then he had come to Meduseld, as he had promised Eomer he would, and he had seen the white haired and bent old man sitting on the throne. It had been a blow he had been hard-pressed to conceal.

He had watched Théoden's recovery from Saruman's enchantment, and was glad to see that he was indeed the king and leader he had seen in the boy all those years before. Riding at that king's right hand at the Hornburg had been an honor, in many ways.

But now he was gone.

Aragorn knew that Éomer would be a great king, and would lead his people well. He also knew that the young man he considered more a brother than a friend would grow old and join his uncle in the halls of their ancestors long before Aragorn would receive the gift of men himself. Éomer's son, should he have one, would likely be old before that time...

He sighed and forced himself to shake off such dark thoughts. He knew that the way of the Eorlingas was to celebrate the life of a loved one rather than mourn their passing. With a whispered "Ferthu, Théoden, hal," he gave a final bow to the king's mound before he turned towards the gates and the celebration that awaited in the golden hall.

* * *

Many thanks to Lialathuveril, Artura, Thanwen, Sian22 and Haarajot for their feedback and support!


End file.
